


We Get on a Train That's Bound for Santa Fe

by WaitingForMy



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Familial Abuse, Gayngst, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, gay angst, homophobic violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2020-06-25 02:34:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19736602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaitingForMy/pseuds/WaitingForMy
Summary: Davey didn’t even know his father owned a gun, but there it was in his father’s right hand, with the barrel pointed right at Jack Kelly’s chest.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written for Newsies before, but this just popped into my head and needed to get out. I will go down with this ship.

Davey didn’t even know his father owned a gun.

He did know he was devastatingly, irrevocably in love with Jack Kelly.

The almost one year since the now infamous newsboy strike had been filled with secret meetings and stolen kisses, with late nights and early mornings, falling asleep with Jack’s head on his shoulder and Jack’s arm slung across his chest and waking up alone, always leaving the window unlocked. They didn’t tell a soul about their feelings going beyond the brotherly façade they put on as friends and selling partners. The other guys must have known something, but they were kind and smart enough to keep their mouths shut. Davey suspected some of them had secret rendezvous of their own. No one asked, no one told, everyone stayed safe, and if anyone harbored any hidden judgements, they kept it to themselves.

Looking back, Davey should have gone back to school. When his father announced over dinner that he was going back to work, he should have at least pretended to jump at the chance to return to the life he’d had before his father’s injury, before newspapers and strikes, before Jack Kelly.

“Dad, I was thinking…” He said, and all eyes turned to him. “Well, maybe I don’t go back to school. I could keep selling papes. We could use the extra money.”

His mother raised an eyebrow. “Papes?”

“Newspapers,” he corrected himself.

The entire truth, of course, was that he loved selling newspapers with Jack. He loved just watching Jack, who could probably convince a blind man to buy a paper, all loud but pleasant voice and golden-tanned skin and a smile brighter than the sun. The way he flirted with ladies passing by made Davey’s skin crawl, but he made sales that way, and he always threw Davey one of those gorgeous smiles after. Davey didn’t know if he intended it as an apology, but it sure felt like one, and Davey forgave him every single time. How could he ever not? He would let Jack get away with murder.

Looking back, the night he suggested to his parents that he continue selling newspapers instead of going back to school might have been the night that led to the worst of Davey’s life. He never noticed, if his parents showed any extra concern or suspicion, but they might have. He didn’t pay attention. He was just so stupidly happy. He felt invincible, and maybe he got careless. Maybe he let something slip without realizing it, or maybe he smiled at Jack just a little too long when he came over for dinner one night, or maybe things got a little too loud in his bedroom one morning before the sun came up. He didn’t know. He didn’t know how his parents found out about him and Jack. He didn’t know his father owned a gun until that night.

The dim light of a single candle flickered over the open book on Davey’s desk. He squinted through the darkness until his head began to hurt, then gave up and closed his eyes, tuning in to the soft sounds of the city at night. A dog bark here, a distant shout there, a soft, “Hey, stranger,” from a few feet behind him. He nearly fell out of his chair.

“Jack! God, how long have you been there?”

Jack perched in Davey’s open window with one foot up on the sill, one arm laid over his knee, a cheeky grin on his face, silver moonlight highlighting his form. He got down gently and crossed to Davey. “Long enough to appreciate how beautiful you look in candlelight.”

Davey scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Flirt.”

“Ey, I’m serious!” Jack’s smile grew more sincere as he leaned against the desk and looked at Davey.

Davey tried to will away the warmth in his cheeks. “Well, for what it’s worth,” he said, “you look beautiful in moonlight.”

Jack’s smile faltered for a moment, then came back even brighter than before. “Jeez, Dave. I love you.”

“I love you, t—”

Jack cut him off with a kiss, gently holding his face and running his thumbs across his cheekbones. Davey melted into him, mind swept clean by the feeling of Jack’s lips on his, the taste, everything. Davey loved everything about Jack Kelly. He carded his fingers into Jack’s hair, knocking his hat off in the process.

Jack laughed, “Calm down, Dave. Can’t just undress me without askin’ first.”

“Shut up, it was just your hat.”

They kissed again. This time, Davey stood up from his chair to get a better angle.

He wondered if Jack knew the stars came out every night because of him.

They fell asleep as they always did, together, with Jack closer to the window for an easy escape route in the morning. He claimed that he liked sandwiching Davey against the wall “so he couldn’t run away with some smarter, beautifuller boy in the night.” Davey always laughed and assured Jack there was no such person, but it also made his heart feel full to bursting to hear Jack, in his own offhanded way, tell Davey he wanted to protect him.

Not long after they fell asleep—in fact, Davey wasn’t sure he fell asleep at all—the door to the room slammed open. They both startled awake. Jack tumbled out of the bed and crashed to the floor with an all too audible _thump_. Davey’s eyes adjusted slowly to the light from the hallway, mind still foggy from sleep or something close to it, heart beating a mile a minute.

His father’s voice boomed, “What the hell is going on here?”

“Mr. Jacobs, it’s not what you think!”

Davey heard the telltale _click_ of a gun as his world finally came into focus. He didn’t even know his father owned a gun, but there it was in his father’s right hand, with the barrel pointed right at Jack Kelly’s chest. Davey’s mouth fell open, but no sound came out.

“Isn’t it?” Mayer Jacobs asked, stepping closer to Jack. “I _think_ I just found you in bed with my son.”

Jack scrambled back into the corner with his hands up like some kind of criminal. Then again, Davey thought, he was a criminal, wasn’t he? They both were. Jack looked at Davey with eyes wide and frantic, and Davey found his voice.

“Dad, stop,” he tried to shout, but instead whimpered.

Mayer ignored him, if he heard him at all. “Are you messing around with my son?” he hissed at Jack.

Davey watched as Jack swallowed hard and began to shake. The icy grip of fear clenched around his chest. His father had a gun. There was a gun pointed at Jack. At any given second, the boy he loved could be gone forever, in the blink of an eye, dead on his floor. A tear rolled down Davey’s cheek.

“Please, Dad, don’t.”

Les and Esther Jacobs stood in the doorway, watching the scene unfold, Esther holding Les close to her with a hand around his chest. Davey looked to them for help, for them to say something, do something, anything, but they didn’t. After all, his mother was probably on his father’s side, and what could a ten-year-old kid say or do to stop a murder?

Oh, God, the word burned in his mind like a hot iron, singing what little composure he had left. This was murder. He was watching his own father murder Jack Kelly.

“I said, _don’t!_ ” he cried, finally getting a little volume behind his voice.

For one blissful moment, Mayer lowered the gun and turned away from Jack. He met Davey’s gaze with a fire in his eyes Davey had never seen before. He had always been a good father, kind, gentle, and honest…but that, Davey though ruefully, was before his kid was a queer.

Jack bared his teeth and snarled like a wounded animal, “You point that thing at Davey, I’ll kill you!”

Davey gasped.

Jack, always the leader, always the protector, always the martyr, and he had gone and done it again, and this time with his life on the line.

Mayer once again aimed his weapon at Jack and uttered a single, bitter laugh. “You’ll kill me, huh? You’re not going to get the chance, Kelly.”

Jack looked to Davey again, but this time, his eyes weren’t wide or frantic; they were wet with tears and broken by resignation. He was going to die.

At once, Davey knew why they call it heartbreak, as he physically felt as though his heart crumble in his chest. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair for Jack Kelly, the young man with a loud but pleasant voice and golden-tanned skin and a smile brighter than the sun, who painted places he had never seen and dreamed of going to Santa Fe, who fought hard and loved fiercely and never did anything halfway, to be killed for loving someone who didn’t even deserve him and everything he was. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t _fucking fair._

Davey saw the tiny shift in his father’s hand as he prepared to pull the trigger and launch a bullet straight into Jack’s chest. He saw the fear flash in Jack’s eyes as he saw it too. He heard the shot and saw the blood and watched the life drain like liquid from those eyes, and he wanted to break down and cry, but none of it had happened yet. He had one chance to stop it. He could not stand by and watch his Jack get murdered right in front of him.

“ _No!_ ”

He wondered what night would look like without the stars.

Davey crashed into his father’s back as a deafening _bang!_ rang out through the apartment. They fell hard, and Davey almost cried with relief when his hand skidded over a bullet hole in the floorboard.

“Jack, _run!_ ”

Jack scrambled to his feet and leapt over the sprawled forms of Mayer and Davey Jacobs. He shoved Esther and Les out of the way in the doorframe and took off down the hall. By the time Mayer made it outside with Davey in pursuit, Jack was halfway down the street. Mayer aimed the gun at Jack’s back and fired twice. Davey watched in horror as Jack stumbled, but he didn’t fall. He ducked into an alleyway at the end of the road. Davey breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

His father grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and dragged him back to their apartment, slamming the door behind them.

* * *

Jack didn’t sleep, that night. He tried to. He was exhausted from running, but every time his eyes fell closed, he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun, loaded, cocked, and ready to fire, and all that adrenaline came flooding back. He saw Davey, the terror in his crystal blue eyes, the way his pale face twisted in desperation as he screamed and knocked his father to the ground. When he told Jack to run, Jack did, stumbling only once as a bullet grazed his thigh. He didn’t let it slow him down. He ran all the way back to the Manhattan newsies’ lodging house before he even felt the stinging pain from the shallow wound. He climbed the fire escape as high as he could go, using the railing to pull himself along as he began to limp and hot tears began to burn his eyes. He eventually reached the top and hauled himself onto the roof, where at least he felt safe and could slow down and gather his thoughts for a moment.

His thoughts, as it turned out, weren’t great. A part of him had always been mad at the world for their rules and moral judgments that made no sense. He loved Davey Jacobs, and so what if they were both guys? They couldn’t help that! Jack knew in his heart loving Davey was no crime, no matter what the law said. He didn’t need to announce it in the streets like the morning headline or anything, but he didn’t need to get killed for it either. He let out a low scream of frustration and slammed his fist into the rooftop, then did it again and again and again before sitting back on his heels and sobbing openly. He didn’t even worry about the other guys hearing. What would they do? Shoot him?

He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, smearing blood from his busted knuckles on his cheeks. He didn’t have anything on the roof to clean or dress with injuries, nor did it seem important at the time. He flopped on his back and stayed that way, through periods of broken half-sleep and a couple more bouts of tears, until he could see the first, dusty hint of sunrays peeking over the New York skyline. He grimaced at the sight and forced his eyes to close, trying to will away the visions of the night before.

“Jack?” The voice was soft but a little frantic and so, so familiar.

Jack sat up, and his head swam in the sudden movement. “Davey?” He looked all around, but didn’t see him anywhere.

“Over here, Jack.”

Jack rushed to the fire escape, ready to help Davey up onto the roof, but his whole world froze when he took in the sight of him. Davey looked like hell. His bottom lip was swollen and split down the middle, an angry bruise colored his left cheekbone, and the way he stood, hunched over with a hand gripping the railing, suggested those were just the injuries Jack could see.

He swallowed back nausea. “My god, Davey…”

He shouldn’t have run. He shouldn’t have left Davey there, alone. He should have known this would happen. Shit, he was lucky Davey didn’t get shot.

He made to get down onto the fire escape, but recoiled as a panicked thought struck him. “You can’t be here, Dave. If your folks catch you coming back or—”

“I’m not going back,” Davey said. What was left of the moonlight glinted off his eyes and the nearly-dried blood on his lips. He held Jack’s gaze for a weighted moment before looking down. He let out a single breathy, humorless laugh. “I’m running away, Jacky. And I know it’s crazy and selfish of me to ask you to come with me, but—”

“Are you kidding?” Jack was already climbing down onto the fire escape. “Of course I’m fuckin’ comin’ witchu!” Once down, he pulled Davey into a tight embrace. “I’d follow you anywhere, Dave, and…and shit, it’s not like I got much of a choice. Something tells me your father ain’t gonna hesitate on the trigger next time.” He sighed. “We’s both in big trouble, baby.”

“I’m so sorry, Jack,” Davey whimpered, clinging to him like a lifeline.

“Don’t be.” Jack reluctantly let go of him and took a deep breath. “So where we goin’?”

Davey looked away from the rising sun and shrugged. “Santa Fe?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kind comments! <3 I've decided to continue this story.
> 
> I would like to extend a formal apology to my other fandoms. I begged myself not to write a Newsies fanfiction. I did not need another project, let alone another fandom...aaaaand here we are.
> 
> Disclaimer: When the boys make it to Santa Fe, there will be OCs. Like, a looot of OCs. Jack and Davey will still be the main focus of the story, of course.
> 
> Now, without further ado, I humbly present Chapter Two of "On a Train."

“This is crazy,” Davey said as the train came into view. He slung his bag over his shoulder. His knuckles went white on the strap.

Jack scoffed, “Crazier than going to Grand Central and hopin’ no one thinks to look for us, there?”

His words were confident, but Davey could see the doubt in his eyes. Davey couldn’t think of a more unsettling sight than a scared Jack Kelly, the man whom he had once believed to be fearless. Of course, he had come to know him better than that. Jack feared plenty of things. He jumped at big spiders and freaked when anything happened to Crutchie. He didn’t like to talk about his time in The Refuge. He feared death, though it took someone close to him to see it, what with his constantly reckless behavior.

“Have you ever done this before?” Davey asked, panic rising into his throat as the still faint whistle from the train sounded.

“Jumped on a moving train?” Jack laughed. “Uh…no—but! But I think if you, you know…” He did a little jogging motion, and while Davey never knew exactly what was going on in that crazy brain of his, he suspected he was releasing some nervous energy. “…run alongside it, it won’t be going so much faster than you.”

“Yes, it will.”

“W—Not as bad as if you just stands there!”

They both turned their heads when the whistle blew again, much louder and closer, and they could suddenly hear the train chugging along the tracks.

“You go first. Wanna make sure you get on,” Jack said.

Davey nodded. His mouth was too dry to form words, it seemed.

“And we ride the freight to the first town we see, then we find a station and get on a real train.”

Davey nodded again.

Jack glanced at the quickly approaching train, then back at Davey. He pulled him in for a dry, chaste kiss on the lips. “Love you, Davey.”

“I love you too, Jacky,” Davey murmured, fighting back a cringe. Jack might as well have said straight-out, “We’re probably going to die, doing this.”

The train would be right next to them, in just a few moments. Davey’s heart pounded. They were really going to do this—all of this. They were really going to jump a freight train, they were really going to run away, and if they succeeded at those two things, they were really going to be together and safe somewhere far away from New York.

“Start runnin,’ Dave.”

They both did. The train overtook them quickly. He saw that if he jumped between the boxcars, he could fit between them and hold on.

“Davey, go! Don’t think, just _jump!_ ”

Don’t think, just jump.

Don’t think, just—

He jumped, grabbing wildly for something, anything, to which to hold on. When his hands hit something solid, he clung to it. He stumbled, and for a terrifying moment, he thought he would fall between the cars and be crushed by the train, but one of his feet found the place where the cars connected, and he managed to steady himself. “Jack!” he called behind him.

He didn’t see Jack alongside the train anymore, but the wind muffled any response Jack might have given him. Of course, if he couldn’t see him alongside the train anymore, he had to have made it on, right?

Unless he fell.

A pit opened up in Davey’s stomach as he thought about it. Jack easily could have slipped under the train, as he almost had, and he wouldn’t know. He wouldn’t know if Jack made it until they reached their first town and got back on the ground. He screwed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead into the boxcar behind him. He couldn’t do anything about it but wait.

The rhythmic clicking of the train down the track lulled him into a sort of trance. He watched Manhattan disappear beyond the horizon as his mind wandered back to his home, his family, the newsies, all the way back to the strike and the day he met Jack Kelly, the undisputed leader of the newsies of Manhattan, confident to the point of cocky and charismatic, a beautiful dreamer.

_“I don’t even know you.”_

And yet, less than a year later, Davey jumped onto a moving train to be with this man.

They hadn’t told a single soul what they were doing or where they were going. They hadn’t left a note. Jack threw some money and a change of clothes in his bag and they left before any of the other guys had a chance to wake up and ask questions. Davey trusted the newsies, as did Jack, but in that moment, they trusted no one. Davey _had_ trusted his father, after all.

Davey had a hard time reconciling the father he knew with the father he saw the night before. It felt like a dream, like a horrible nightmare, like he would wake up at any moment in his bedroom with the window unlocked and the sun shining in. He would take Les to school on his way to the distribution center, where he would meet Jack. They would duck into a shadow to steal a kiss before hitting the streets. Jack would sell all his papes, and if Davey didn’t, he would sell those too. Davey would pick Les up from school on the way home. Jack would be at his window around midnight.

Davey found himself wondering who would take Les to school in the morning.

He didn’t regret leaving. He had no choice. His father beat the shit out of him, after Jack ran. He couldn’t stay. It wasn’t safe. Les would be okay. Their parents would take care of him. Les wasn’t any of the choice words their father had called Davey, the night before. That didn’t stop tears from welling up in his eyes—of what, he didn’t know. Fear? Anger? Or maybe it was just grief over losing everything in a single day. He lost his home, his family, his job, his friends. Everything but Jack. God, he hoped he hadn’t lost Jack.

Davey’s bones felt very heavy in his body as the physical and emotional exhaustion set in. He slipped into a sleep-like state, body awake and holding on to the train but mind on another plane. It may have been twenty minutes or two hours before the train’s whistle blew and Davey looked up to see a town coming into view. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves and clear his head. If he jumped too soon, he and Jack had a long walk ahead of them. If he waited too long, they risked being seen by someone in town riding between boxcars, obviously running away from something. He had to focus to get the timing right. One more minute, maybe two.

Fifty seconds. If he hit the ground running, he could lessen the rapidity of his change in speed.

Thirty seconds. Jack was behind him on the train, so he had to jump first. If Jack jumped first, he wouldn’t know, but if he jumped first…

Ten seconds. That was if Jack was on the train at all.

Don’t think, he reminded himself. Just jump.

When his feet hit the solid, very stationary ground, they stopped moving, and the rest of his body did not. He held out his hands to break his fall as he tumbled head over heels in the grass, rolling to a stop on his back with sticky palms, sore wrists, and precious little air left in his lungs. His view of the sky kept spinning. A ragged cry, perhaps his own, echoed in his ears. He groaned.

“Fuck. Davey?”

“Jack!?” Davey sat up far too quickly, sending himself into another round of visual somersaults. Finally, his eyes landed on Jack Kelly, who was very much alive and lying in a patch of mud just a few yards away.

The two regarded each other for a moment, then Jack started the fit of giggles that followed. “That was the craziest thing I’ve ever done,” he said.

“Yeah, and you led a strike against Pulitzer.”

“So did you.” Jack grinned, but it quickly turned into a wince and a grunt. “I hit somethin’ on the way down, Davey. My hip…” He pressed a hand to his hip, and it came away red.

“Oh my god, are you alright?” Davey crawled towards him, trying to ignore the shooting pains in his wrists, especially his right one.

Jack groaned. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just hurts.”

Davey passed a small rock about the size of his palm that was wet with blood. His own hands streaked the green grass with red, and he hoped that was sweat on his face, but the stinging on his cheekbone suggested otherwise. He cringed. “We can’t get on a passenger train like this, Jacky.”

“No, you’s right,” Jack agreed. “We can find somewhere to clean up, hit the road tomorrow.”

“What if someone finds us, here? We can’t be that far from New York, yet.” Davey finally reached Jack and helped pull him into a sitting position.

“You got a better idea?” Jack wiped at the mud on his face with the back of his hand, but only managed to smear it further.

“No,” Davey admitted, rolling his sleeve down over his hand and cleaning Jack’s face with it. “But maybe there’s a night train we can get on. Keep moving.”

Jack smiled, and despite the circumstances, Davey felt like the luckiest person alive to be in love with this beautiful man.

“This is why you’re the brains of this operation,” Jack said, gesturing between him and Davey.

“Think you can stand up?”

“Might need some help.”

Davey wrapped his arms around Jack and helped pull him to his feet. For the first time, he got a good look at the wound where the rock had dug into Jack’s hip. It didn’t look good. “You sure you’re okay?”

Jack nodded, but the way he grimaced and leaned on Davey told a different story. “’M fine.” He took a couple lurching steps forward, towards the town. “So what’s our story?”

“What?” Davey asked, slipping an arm around Jack’s waist to help hold him up.

Jack smirked. “Well, we can’t very well go around tellin’ folks we’s queers runnin’ from your father. We need a story. Change our names. Whole thing.”

Davey nearly stumbled. “Change our names? Jack, are you crazy? It’s not that easy.”

“Sure it is. You think my mother named me Jack Kelly?”

Davey came to a dead halt, jerking Jack back alongside him. “Um, yes, I did.”

Jack bit his lip. “Oh.”

Davey knew it didn’t matter, that Jack was Jack and who cared what his mother named him? Still, it hurt in a way he didn’t understand to find something so basic that he didn’t know about his boyfriend, whom he loved insanely enough to risk his life and leave his family and run away. He realized he knew very little about Jack’s life, his past. “What’s your name?”

Jack must have heard the tension in Davey’s voice, because he responded, “’Ey, my name is Jack Kelly. I didn’t lie to you. I’ve been going by Jack Kelly for a long time now, Dave.”

“I know, but…” Davey trailed off and sighed. But what? Even he didn’t know.

“Well, if you really wanna know,” Jack said, “my name _was_ Francis Sullivan.”

Davey chewed his bottom lip, turning the name over in his head. Then, he forced a smile. “Jack Kelly suits you better, I think.”

Jack laughed. “Why d’you think I picked it?”

Jack took another step forward, and Davey, unwilling to drop him, moved along with him. At this rate, Davey realized, it would take them much longer than he expected to make it to the town—more time to get their story straight, on the bright side.

“I can’t imagine not being David Jacobs,” Davey admitted. “I’m always going to think of myself as David Jacobs. I’m always going to think of you as Jack Kelly.”

Jack sighed, and Davey hoped he couldn’t hear a hint of frustration in it.

“Tell you what,” Jack said. His voice was soft. He sounded tired. “When we get to Santa Fe, we can be David Jacobs and Jack Kelly. Here, well, you said it yourself, we ain’t that far from New York yet.”

Davey agreed, though Santa Fe suddenly seemed very, very far away.

* * *

As his selling partner, Davey knew all about Jack’s incredible ability to spin tall tales and “improve the truth,” but he had never found it so impressive. The owner of a small motel couldn’t help but take pity on Phillip and Thomas Smith, the unfortunate cousins from New York who got jumped in an alley on their way to the train station, where they planned to take a train to Santa Fe to see their ailing grandmother before it was too late. He even gave them a half-full bottle of whisky to clean their wounds. As the door to their heavily discounted room closed behind them, Jack collapsed face-down onto the bed, and Davey sat down on the floor with his back against the wall.

Davey rolled his shoulders, sore from all but carrying Jack. “You know, it kind of scares me, what a good liar you are,” he joked.

The bedsheets muffled Jack’s voice as he spoke, “I never lie to you, Davey.”

“Really, Francis?”

A pillow came hurtling at Davey’s face. He swatted it aside, shooting pain up his right arm from his wrist. He felt around it with his left hand, breathing through the pain. Sprained, he decided, not broken. “How’s your leg?”

Jack grimaced as he rolled onto his back. “Wish I’d stolen Crutchie’s crutch, ‘fore we left,” he said.

The atmosphere in the room shifted at the mention of Crutchie, Jack’s best friend, his _brother_ , whom they left behind in New York without so much as a goodbye.

“You’re really going to miss him,” Davey said. It wasn’t even a question, but something of a warning.

Jack dragged a hand down the side of his face. “Shit, Dave, I already do.”

A pang of guilt struck Davey in the heart. He knew it was selfish to ask Jack to run away with him. He shouldn’t have been so selfish, wanting Jack to himself when Jack had a whole family of boys in New York who needed him, and he needed them.

“Hey.”

When Davey looked up, Jack had fixed him with a fierce gaze.

“If I could redo this mornin,’ I’d do exactly what I done, okay?”

Davey nodded.

Jack tilted his head towards the bathroom door. “You wanna clean up first? I don’t knows if I can move.” His mouth smiled, but the tightness around his eyes betrayed some truth to his statement.

Even so, “You need to get that wound cleaned up before it gets infected, Jack.”

Jack’s smile turned in to a smirk—the one that always made Davey’s heart speed up and his clothes feel too tight. “Well gee then, Dave, I guess you’s gonna have to help me, aren’t ya?”

Davey rolled his eyes, hoping the fact that they had just hobbled at least a mile would disguise the embarrassed flush on his cheeks. It wasn’t like he and Jack hadn’t been plenty intimate before, and it wasn’t like cleaning muddy wounds was a particularly amorous activity, but Jack still had a way of getting him worked up like a blushing virgin. Jack seemed to find it very entertaining, and no matter how hard Davey tried not to give him the satisfaction, he lost that battle every time.

Jack leaned even more heavily on Davey on their way into the bathroom than he did on their way into town, gripping the bottle of whisky in one hand and Davey’s shoulder in the other. Davey managed to help him get seated on the floor with minimal impact. Jack let out a groan and slumped against the wall, letting his eyes close.

“Sorry,” Davey murmured, kneeling in front of him, ignoring the many protests from his own sore body. “I don’t think there’s a comfortable way to do this.”

“Do whatcha gotta do, Dave.”

“Alright.”

Davey surveyed his boyfriend from head to toe, noting his dirty face and messy hair, his quick and shallow breaths, the small scratches etched into his skin, and of course the gash on his hip, which still oozed blood. Davey wrote it off as a trick of the light that Jack looked considerably paler than normal. If nothing else, he decided, Jack needed to get into his extra change of clothes, so he set about unbuttoning his shirt.

“Try to take deep breaths,” he suggested.

“No.”

Jack’s curt answer startled Davey, who paused for a moment. Breathing deeply would help with the pain, he thought. Then he opened Jack’s shirt, revealing lines of dark purple bruising all over his ribcage. Davey stared. No wonder Jack didn’t want to breathe deeply. Breathing must have hurt.

Jack must have noticed the look of horror on Davey’s face, because he let out a humorless chuckle. “Took quite a tumble off a’ that train, huh?”

“How are you even moving?”

“I’m tough.”

* * *

Jack did not feel very tough. The whiskey Davey poured over the wound on his hip stung like a bitch, his whole torso throbbed deeply, the world spun any time he moved, and of course there was Davey, looking all put-together and beautiful in his change of clothes while Jack was a hot mess. Davey amazed Jack every day with his vast intelligence and quick wit, his never-ending bravery, and now with his ability to jump off a moving train and not land on a rock. What a stunner. Jack wasn’t sure if he believed in God, but he thanked Him for Davey just in case.

Davey reached into his bag. “Oh. I forgot. Here.” He held his hand out to Jack, and in it was… “You left this in my room, last night.”

Jack blinked, then his lips stretched into a grin. “You mean to tell me that while throwing stuff in a bag and runnin’ away from your father, you stopped to get my hat?”

“Of course.”

That settled it; the first thing Jack was doing in Santa Fe was going to a church and atoning for his sins, because there was no way David Jacobs existed without some sort of divine intervention.

He reached out, grabbing Davey’s hand instead of the hat. “Come here.”

Davey stepped over to where Jack sat on the end of the bed and knelt down in front of him. Jack leaned his forehead against Davey’s.

“I love you,” Jack said, “so much.” He brushed his lips over Davey’s forehead. “We’s gonna be okay…right?”

Davey pulled back to look him in the eye. “Of course, we are.” He said it with such confidence.

Jack pulled him in for a real kiss then, slow and gentle, pretending for a moment they had all the time in the world.

Yeah, Jack thought, they were going to be okay.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Spongebob Narrator Voice* Two and a half weeks later: Well, I accidentally wrote a reprise to Santa Fe and put it in this chapter, so I guess do your best to read the sections in italics to the tune of Santa Fe??? Also, since it looks like I'm gonna be around, I should probably introduce myself? I'm Andy. I'm 21. I work with animals. I like horror movies, dance musicals, and beating the shit out of my favorite characters on AO3. That's it that's my whole personality.
> 
> Disclaimer II: I have no idea what railroad travel was like in 1900. The train in this story is therefore based on the one described in Skimbleshanks: The Railway Cat from CATS, which is my favorite musical (and yes, I AM distraught over the film trailer, thank you for asking).

Davey watched Jack’s eyes light up as they entered their little room on the passenger train to Santa Fe, just before midnight.

“Holy hell, Dave, this is better than anywhere I’ve ever lived.”

Davey tried not to let that little comment hurt his heart too much. After all, the sleeping car _was_ very nice, with dark, wood paneling on the walls, tasseled curtains on the window, and most importantly, a clean berth that looked unbearably inviting after the day they’d had.

“Well, it should be,” he replied to Jack, “since we blew almost all our money on it.”

Jack shrugged, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “We’ll find a way to make more money when we get to Santa Fe.” His voice had an edge to it that betrayed his frayed nerves. “I mean, you’s smart, and I can paint, or we could, you know…”

Davey gave Jack plenty of time to answer. “Sell newspapers?”

Jack shrugged again, looking everywhere around the car except at Davey. “Yeah, that.”

Davey sighed. They had known it would cost a fair amount of money to get to Santa Fe. They hadn’t been counting on the detour into the motel or the last available spot on the train being a private sleeping compartment. They hadn’t counted on much at all, and it was becoming increasingly apparent that they had no clue what they were doing.

He closed the door to their den behind him and sat on the bed next to Jack. “We should try to get some sleep,” he suggested. “We’re running on two days with none.”

Jack’s gaze fell. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Davey reached over and pulled him down, so he was laying with his head in Davey’s lap.

Jack sighed as Davey stroked his hair, leaning into the touch. The silence between them stretched on for so long, Davey started to think that Jack had fallen asleep after all.

“I keep thinking that I’m going to die,” Jack said at last, his voice tiny and reedy and everything he wasn’t.

Davey sucked in a breath, his hand on Jack’s head abruptly stilled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean twenty-four hours ago, I had a gun pointed at my chest, and I thought I was gonna die. I was just hopin’ you wasn’t next, but I couldn’t do nothin’ about it. That keeps comin’ back to me, Dave.”

Davey found himself unable to answer. His memories of the night before flitted about, rolling over each other and blending into one mass of fear and pain and heartbreak. He remembered a few things very clearly, however—the wild terror in Jack’s eyes and the horrible resignation that replaced it, the sound of a gunshot, the split second Davey spent not knowing if it had hit its target.

“You thought I was gonna die too, didn’t you?” Jack continued. “You sure looked like it; like all the hope and happiness and everything that makes you _you_ , that makes you my Davey, was just snatched right out a’ you. I never wants to see you like that again.”

Davey closed his eyes and took a breath. “We’re _here_ now, Jack. That’s over,” he said, needing to hear it as much as Jack. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, but you need rest.”

“You, too.”

Davey said nothing, just continued stroking Jack’s hair until he felt him relax, his breathing becoming slow and even, finally asleep. Davey watched out the window as pieces of unfamiliar landscape, frosted by the light of the moon, flew past. Jack was right; he needed to sleep, but the irrational part of him that so rarely won out screamed that if he fell asleep, Jack might not be there when he woke up.

“We’re here now,” he repeated in a whisper. “We’re okay. We’re going to be okay…”

* * *

_As tonight becomes this morning_  
_God, I wonder how I got_  
_To this place from where I was one year ago_

_But life changes without warning_  
_That’s the case more times than not_  
_Maybe this time, we’ll have happiness to show_

_Close your eyes_  
_You’re with me_  
_(I) won’t let anybody hurt you_  
_Through the light and through the darkness, I will stay_  
_Now we’ve left the past behind us_  
_Left our worries far away_  
_And we’re on the midnight train to Santa Fe_

_And we’re gone_  
_And we’re done_  
_No more running, no more lying_  
_No more pain and shame and hate for loving you_  
_Just a life that’s worth the living_  
_In a place that’s all brand new_  
_Yes, it’s true_  
_We’ll pull through_  
_In Santa Fe_

* * *

Davey didn’t remember dozing off, but he must have, at least for a few minutes. He woke with his back pressed into the corner, Jack’s head still on his lap, and the rhythm of the train rapidly pulling him back towards sleep.

“Davey.”

His eyes snapped open. Was it Jack’s voice that had woken him? Dear God, was that Jack’s voice? It sounded like him, but it didn’t. It sounded broken and old. Davey looked down at the man in his lap, and his heart sank. He could no longer write off Jack’s pallor as a trick of the light. “Jacky? What—”

“Bleeding. Hurts.”

“Where?”

No sooner had the question left his lips than Davey noticed the mass of red staining the sheets. The wound on Jack’s hip must have reopened while they were sleeping and bled heavily. Davey’s stomach threatened to be sick as he took in the sight of way, way too much blood. _Jack’s_ blood.

“Oh no,” he breathed.

Jack looked up at him with unfocused eyes. “I don’t feel good, Dave.”

“I know. I know.”

Davey carefully worked his way out from under Jack and ran for the door. Tears stung his eyes. He couldn’t lose Jack like this—not after everything. Not after they made it this far.

He threw the door open. “I need a doctor! Is there a doctor here!?”

* * *

Davey would never get used to hearing Jack cry. He hugged him tight as the doctor worked, thanking every god he ever heard of that there was a doctor on the train, just wishing he could take Jack’s pain away and hoping he would turn out alright. “Hang in there, Jacky,” he pleaded. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The doctor—a man about Davey’s father’s age—sighed and shook his head, pressing an already bloody cloth against the wound. “He needs to stop bleeding. Gash like this won’t take stitches.”

“What do we do?”

The doctor sighed again, letting the cloth fall and reaching into his bag. “You hold on to him as tight as you can. This is going to hurt.”

Jack groaned, already half-delirious from pain.

Davey cringed. “I know, Jacky.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow at Jack. “Does he talk?” he asked Davey.

“Usually.”

The doctor hummed. “Probably best that he’s out of it, anyway.”

Jack hadn’t said a word since telling Davey he didn’t feel good. By the time Davey returned with the doctor, he had drifted out of consciousness, only to snap back into it when the doctor began examining his wound, crying out in pain. Davey supposed the best he could hope for would be Jack not remembering any of this.

The doctor retrieved a matchbox and what appeared to be a small iron from his bag. Davey looked on in horror, feeling bile rise in his throat. He couldn’t watch. He looked out the window while the doctor prepared to…to _burn_ Jack.

It could save his life, Davey reminded himself. That was the most important thing.

“Ready?” the doctor asked.

He nodded, tightened his hold on Jack, and squeezed his eyes shut. There was a hiss, and the meaty smell of burnt skin, and Jack let out a mangled scream of pain. A few seconds felt like forever. Davey wanted to scream, too.

And then it was over. Jack slumped against Davey, and Davey rocked him gently. Where Jack had a bleeding wound just moments before, he had an angry, red burn. When his breathing finally slowed and his sobs quieted down, Davey helped lay him on his uninjured side.

“Thank you, doctor,” Davey said, standing and extending his right hand.

The doctor ignored his offer of a handshake, instead reaching back into his bag and retrieving a bottle of pills. He shook a few out into his hand and gave them to Davey. “Give him one of those every day, if he wakes up. They’ll help ward off infection.”

Davey stared. The doctor seemed to realize what he had said, but he didn’t correct himself.

“Thank you,” Davey repeated.

The doctor nodded, giving Davey a strange look before making for the door. He hesitated with his hand on the handle. “Why ‘Jacky’?”

Davey frowned. “What?”

The doctor nodded towards Jack. “You said your cousin’s name is Phillip, but you called him ‘Jacky’. Why ‘Jacky’?”

The unspoken accusation seeped like ice-cold water into Davey’s veins. He had easily been able to keep up their façade at first, but when Jack was is pain, he hadn’t thought…

He hadn’t thought about anything except Jack.

“Middle name,” he lied.

The doctor shot him a disbelieving glare and disappeared into the hall.

Davey let out the breath he was holding. He knelt down in front of the berth as if praying and buried his face in it. What should he do, on a train somewhere between New York and New Mexico, with Jack dying right in front of him? What _could_ he do? Jack survived and escaped The Refuge. He survived the strike against Pulitzer. He survived Mayer Jacobs’ gun. He ran away with Davey and jumped a damn freight train. He couldn’t just _die_.

But of course, Davey knew he could. Anyone could. Even Jack Kelly. Even his Jacky.

* * *

_Yes, I’m afraid I’m going to watch him die here_  
_Yes, I’m afraid we’ll never catch a break_  
_But I’m not gonna waste the time I’ve been given_  
_Not ‘long as he and I are still living_

_Give us a chance at a future_  
_Whatever the hell that means_  
_Just give us a chance, there’s nothing we can’t do_

_And I know it won’t be easy_  
_That, I’ve already seen_  
_Though I know we’ll alright there_  
_It’s a nightmare in between_

_Santa Fe, our old friend_  
_Do you swear you won’t forget us?_  
_If we find you, will you let us come and stay?_  
_We’ve no other path to follow_  
_And if it’s his dying day_  
_Set us free_  
_Like the wind_  
_If his time on this Earth has to end_  
_Save my place_  
_We’ll meet again_

* * *

“Davey?”

“I’m here, Jack.” Davey took Jack’s hand. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jack smiled weakly and closed his eyes again.

* * *

_Don’t you know that we’re a family?_  
_Would I let you down? No way_  
_Just hold on, love, ‘till this train makes Santa Fe._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Don't add Chapter 4. You just posted Chapter 3, and Chapter 5 is nowhere close to done—
> 
> Also me: Lolz but I suck and want more validation???
> 
> Anyhoo, this is a short boi. Only so much you can do with two beat up boyos on a train. Maybe this makes up for me taking forever with Chapter 3?

Jack woke up in The Refuge. He noticed the pain first, clawing at his throat, pounding at his head, and searing at his hip. He gritted his teeth. The hunger came next, gnawing at his stomach. He wondered briefly how he got there, alarmed that he couldn’t remember, and then?

“Jack?”

Then the fear, like an icy knife to the heart, splintering into billions of pieces and running off into his veins. Hot saltwater burned his eyes. Fire and ice.

“Davey?” he whimpered. “Oh god, _Davey_ , no…” He began to shake. Davey couldn’t be there. Not his Davey. Not in this _hell._ He would rather die. “What’s you doing here?” He reached out blindly. “What’d they do to you? Did they hurt you?”

“Jack…” Davey caught Jack’s searching hands. His face came into focus, all worried, blue eyes and pursed lips. “Where do you think we are?”

Jack blinked, forcing the blur around him and Davey to sharpen slightly. Not The Refuge. It couldn’t be The Refuge. The Refuge had closed almost a year before. Relief covered him like a warm blanket. “Train.”

Then, he remembered everything.

Davey nodded. “That’s right.” He laid the back of his hand on Jack’s forehead and huffed, “Damn it,” before shuffling around, returning a moment later and offering his hand to Jack. “Here, take this. It’s to ward off infection.”

Jack squinted at the pill in Davey’s palm. “The doctor give you that?”

Davey’s face fell. “You remember.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Jack scoffed. “He fuckin’ branded me. I don’t think I’s ever gonna forget that.”

“Me either,” Davey mumbled.

Sitting up hurt like hell. The cauterized wound on Jack’s hip protested every movement, the slightest touch. He gritted his teeth and hissed through them, blinking away the moisture that accumulated in the corners of his eyes. Davey looked miserable and guilty enough. He didn’t need Jack crying on him again. Jack could suck it up for two seconds to take the medicine.

There was a time not even that long before when Jack Kelly would not have cared all that much what happened to him. He might have let the fever and infection take over and kill him. Why not, after all? He didn’t have any family. His newsies had each other. He had nothing to believe in but a distant dream called Santa Fe.

Davey. _Davey_ was his “ _why not?_ ” He couldn’t stand the thought of Davey mourning, and he didn’t want to be the reason why, but beyond that, he actually wanted to live another day—hell, he’d take another lifetime—with Davey by his side.

Jack swallowed the bitter pill dry, coughing when it caught in his throat. Davey patted him on the back a little too hard.

“Are you okay? Do you need water?” Davey asked, voice about an octave too high and words a beat too fast.

“Dave,” Jack coughed. “I’m _fine_. Hey.” He took Davey’s hands in his. “I’m gonna be okay. Don’t you worry about me.”

“I’m always going to worry about you, Jack,” Davey said, placing a hand on Jack’s cheek. “Now, you need to rest. You’re running a fever.”

Honestly, rest sounded great. Jack ever so slowly shifted back so he was laying on his side again, but with his back a little closer to the wall, this time. He reached out for Davey. “Come here.”

Davey hesitated, and Jack tried not to be annoyed at being treated like a piece of glass. If their roles were reversed, he would have been the same way. Davey soon relented and climbed into the berth with him. He buried his face in Jack’s chest and sighed—with relief? Exhaustion? Jack didn’t know. What he did know was that having Davey wrapped in his arms again was better than any medicine. He pulled him as tight as he could against his body and pressed a kiss into his hair. His waking nightmare of The Refuge still seemed close at hand. The adrenaline still coursed through his veins. It wasn’t the first time he had woken up thinking he was there, but it was the first time he had woken up thinking Davey was there with him. He remembered the strike. He remembered selling out the union—his friends—his _family_ —just to keep Davey and Les out of that place, how easy that decision had really been, how scary it was to go back on it.

He loosened his hold when Davey’s shoulders began to shake. “Shh, hey, you okay?”

Davey choked out a weak apology between stifled sobs. Jack rubbed his back.

“Don’t be sorry, baby. It’s okay to cry. You’s scared. I’s scared.” Jack knew he wouldn’t be able to stay awake much longer. His limbs felt like lead. His eyes closed against his will. And if he was a little bit afraid the infection would take over and he wouldn’t wake up, he sure as hell didn’t say anything to Davey.

* * *

Davey didn’t realize he had cried himself to sleep until he woke up. He sat up, bleary eyed and confused, then panic struck him like lightning. He didn’t mean to fall asleep. Jack was hurt. Jack had a fever. He needed to watch Jack.

Next to him, Jack took a deep, steady breath, and Davey felt all his muscles relax at once. A touch of color had returned to Jack’s skin, which glistened with sweat. His fever had broken. Thank God.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Davey whispered out loud.

The sun still hung low on the horizon, meaning Davey hadn’t slept for long. He needed more, but in the meantime, his stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten in over a day, and neither had Jack. He didn’t want to leave his ailing boyfriend alone, but if there was ever a time to do so, wouldn’t it be while he was sleeping peacefully? So Davey wandered off in search of the dining car. It didn’t take him long to find it. After all, there were only two ways he could go, and he happened to choose the right one the first time. He explained to the attendant that his _cousin_ was sick and ordered soup to take back to their compartment. Things finally seemed to be looking up. He felt lighter than he had since…

Well. Since he and Jack fell asleep in his room in Manhattan without a care in the world, just together and in love and so blissfully, naïvely happy, when Jack looked beautiful in the moonlight and Davey felt invincible. That was before he realized how much he had to lose and how hard the world would try to take it from him.

He momentarily locked eyes with none other than the doctor, who sat across the car with a woman Davey assumed was his wife. The man hardly regarded Davey at all before turning his attention back to her, but Davey’s skin was already crawling. They weren’t talking about him and Jack. They didn’t have anything to talk about. The doctor had no reason to disbelieve Davey’s story.

But he _did_. Davey had seen it in his eyes that he did. Somehow, he had seen right through their façade. How many people could do that? How many people looked at Jack and Davey and suspected? How safe would they actually be in Santa Fe?

Davey couldn’t think like that. He couldn’t let himself. He had to believe Santa Fe was the answer, that they would be safe and happy there. If he didn’t hold on to that, to the possibility of a life with Jack, he would have nothing.

He returned to their compartment as quickly as he could with two bowls of soup on a tray. He found Jack awake, sitting up, hair messy and eyes unfocused. Jack smiled at him.

“Hey, Davey.”

He melted. “Hey, Jacky. How do you feel?” He set the tray down on the bedside table and sat next to Jack on the berth.

“Better,” Jack said. His voice sounded almost painfully hoarse. He cleared his throat. “Certainly not great, but better than I did.”

“I brought you some soup, if you want to try to eat.”

“God, you’s an angel.”

Davey laughed lightly and handed Jack his bowl, taking his own and sitting on the opposite end of the berth from Jack. “We’ll be there tomorrow.”

Jack looked out the window. “Yeah, guess we is.” He grinned. “We’s really gonna be there, Dave. Santa Fe.” But his grin immediately fell, and he worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “What if it ain’t what I think it is, Dave?”

“What if it ain’t?” Davey asked.

Jack took a heavy breath before looking away from the window. He didn’t answer. He and Davey finished their soup in silence. They placed the bowls back on the tray, and Davey sat down next to Jack. His balance waned, light and unsteady. Jack took his hand.

“You needs more sleep,” Jack said, brushing Davey’s hair away from his forehead.

Davey nodded, but made no move to lie down. Jack pulled him against his shoulder. They sat like that for a long time, with Davey’s cheek resting on Jack’s shoulder and their hands clasped loosely in Jack’s lap, drifting in and out of half-sleep, lulled by the gentle sounds and motion of the train.

Eventually, Davey fell asleep without ever saying what he was thinking, which was, “You and I are Santa Fe.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The train makes Santa Fe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been working on this chapter almost daily since I posted the last one...almost five weeks ago. Safe to say it gave me hell. Hope it was worth the wait!

Jack stared out the window and bounced, bounced like an adorably impatient child, as the train rolled into town. A blinding grin split his face in half, and his eyes absolutely sparkled with excitement. Davey would have sold his soul in an instant to keep that look on Jack’s face forever.

The train shuddered to a stop, and Davey thought Jack would bounce himself right off the berth.

“We’s here, Dave,” Jack said breathlessly. “Oh my god, we’s here, it’s real.”

“It’s real, Jack,” Davey agreed, unable to keep the amused smile off his face. “Come on, let me help you up.” 

Jack whined like a less adorable impatient child, but he still let Davey take some of his weight as he got to his feet. “Daveeeeey, I toldja a million times, I’s  _ fine _ .”

“You’re limping,” Davey protested.

Jack rolled his eyes and sighed, slumped his shoulders, the works. “Yes. You’s right. I’s limpin’. It ain’t the end,  _ Dave _ .”

Davey shook his head and laughed.

They exited their compartment, and Jack tried to take off in what might have been a bastardization of a sprint, but Davey stopped him with the arm around his waist.

“Uh-uh. Slow down there, Cowboy. We don’t need you falling.”

Jack leaned his head back and groaned oh so dramatically. “Come on! We’s here! We’s holdin’ all the nice people up! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s  _ go! _ ”

“The only one being held up is you,” Davey quipped, shouldering much of Jack’s weight as they floundered down the hallway. Jeez, if Jack would just hold still and  _ walk _ — “I’m going to get down first, then I will help you down, okay? Okay? Jack!”

“What?” Jack snapped his wandering gaze away from the windows.

Davey rolled his eyes as he leaned Jack against the wall, as if he were an annoying broom instead of a person. “Just hold on for a second.”

Davey stepped off the train, and God, the ground felt better beneath his feet than he ever expected. It felt real, and solid, and safe. Davey took a moment to soak in that feeling and just breathe, breathe in, and breathe out all the stress of the last three days.

No,  _ stress _ wasn’t the right word. Stress was caused by school, by arguments, by not selling enough papes to pay for dinner. Watching Jack Kelly almost die multiple times in the span of three days didn’t stress Davey out; it damn near broke him.

“Okay.” He reached out to Jack. “Grab my hand and we can—woah!”

Jack came falling out of the train car, instinctively grabbing onto Davey for support. Before Davey could make sense of the shift in balance that came with the extra weight, they crashed onto the hard ground. Jack landed like a sack of potatoes on top of Davey, who coughed and groaned as the wind got knocked out of his lungs.

“Shit,” Jack hissed, pushing himself up on his elbows. “I’s sorry, Davey. You okay?”

Davey blinked the fog out of his eyes, and his lips stretched into a grin as a laugh bubbled up from his chest. Jack smiled back, beautiful as always, brown eyes showing flecks of gold in the light of the sun. He took Davey’s breath away. He hid that smile in Davey’s neck, and suddenly, the two of them were giggling like little schoolgirls on the playground, clinging to each other on the pavement.

They actually did it. They made it to Santa Fe. They could start over, and everything would be—

“You boys okay?”

Jack and Davey shoved themselves apart. Then on their backs, they found themselves staring up at a man in a wide-brimmed hat with a badge on his button-down shirt. The man looked at them quizzically, indecipherably. Davey’s blood ran cold.

“Y—yes, sir. Uh, officer,” Jack stammered, wincing as he sat up.

The man offered Jack his hand. Jack eyed it with suspicion, but eventually took it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. As Davey stood, he didn’t miss the way Jack’s eyes flickered to the holstered gun on the man’s hip.

Something deep inside Davey ignited like a flame.  _ Jack. Protect Jack. _ He grabbed Jack’s arm. His whole body tensed like a spring in preparation to fight or flee. The man glanced between Jack and Davey. Just when Davey thought if he got any tenser, he would shatter, the man nodded and stepped around them. Davey and Jack both held their breath until he was several steps behind them. They looked at each other, and Davey released Jack’s arm.

“We’re here, Jack,” Davey said.

Jack nodded.

Davey looked all around, feeling strangely exposed without brick buildings stretching up into the sky on all sides. He could see the mountains from right where he stood, the horizon, colors he never thought existed in nature, blues and greens and golds straight out his wildest imagination, the sun, the clouds. Then, his gaze landed on Jack, and he found he couldn’t look anywhere else.

Jack was smiling like a loon, looking like he’d never seen the sky before. “Holy shit, Davey, wouldja look at this place?”

“Is it how you dreamed it would be?”

“Better. God, Dave, it’s so much better.”

Davey ached to hug him and kiss him, but of course he didn’t. He couldn’t. That much hadn’t changed between New York and Santa Fe. They still had to be careful. A bitterness like poison seeped into his blood. If one of them were a girl, they wouldn’t have to be careful.

He let those thoughts go, for the time being. He had so much to be thankful for—namely, the living, breathing, amazing man standing right next to him.

“We should start looking for some place to stay,” Jack said, gaze still fixed on the mountains.

Davey knew he wouldn’t like the answer, but he asked anyway, “How much money do we have left?”

That dragged Jack back down to reality. He shifted his gaze down and rubbed the back of his neck. “Not enough for a room. Chances is we’s gonna be sleepin’ on the street for a while.”

Davey nodded. A deep sense of unease replaced any remaining bitterness in his soul. “What about food? Water?”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Figure it out?” Unease quickly turned into a light panic. “Jacky, all we’ve got is— is our clothes and—”

Jack waved his hand dismissively. “Calm down. We’ll get food. Don’t lose your head.”

“How?”

He shot Davey a dark look. “However we has to.”

Davey had been plenty afraid plenty of times, since his father pointed a gun at Jack. Hell, he’d been downright terrified. That was different. That was acute, adrenaline-fueled, fight or flight, unthinking fear driven by his most basic instinct to keep himself and Jack alive. As he and Jack stood in Santa Fe, fresh off the train from New York, with nothing but two sets of clothes each and each other, Davey felt a different type of fear. It was broad and heavy, growing heavier by the second, like sinking into a dark ocean that was much two deep for a couple of eighteen-year-old, queer newsboys from Lower Manhattan.

“We’re in trouble, aren’t we, Jack?”

Jack scoffed. “Trouble?” He sighed and shook his head, looking back off towards the mountains. “Davey…we’s completely screwed.”

* * *

Jack Kelly—or, rather, Francis Sullivan—had lived on the streets before. Hell, he had lived on the streets more than he’d had a roof over his head. He knew how to lie and steal and manipulate. He could survive like that, and he could survive well. David Jacobs? No. Absolutely not. Jack knew that Davey was capable of anything he set his brilliant mind to, but the thought of Davey living like a beggar on the street made Jack want to be sick. Davey deserved the whole goddamn world on a silver platter, and what had Jack given him?

They tried their luck at two inns before Jack needed to rest, his injured hip making walking a challenge. One innkeeper turned them away because of their lack of money. The other claimed he had no vacancy, despite the sign out front declaring otherwise. Discouraged but not defeated, they wandered into a sheltered alley to set their things down and plan their next move. Jack slumped heavily onto the ground with his back against the cool brick wall and groaned. His hip hurt, and his clothes clung uncomfortably to his sweat-streaked skin. Davey, Jack thought, looked rather like an angry, wet kitten. He laughed.

“What?” Davey asked, sitting down next to him, close but not touching.

Jack grinned at him. “We’s disgusting. No wonder no one wants us around.”

Davey laughed along. His lips spread into an affectionate smile that Jack wanted to kiss right off his face. Jack looked towards the mouth of the alley. No one was there, no one was looking at them...but someone could at any moment.

Jack sighed and settled for whispering, “I love you, David.”

And Davey must have understood, because his smile got a little sadder, but no less beautiful. “I love you too, Jack.”

Jack took a risk and held Davey’s hand. He wanted to stay there, at least a little longer, reasonably hidden from prying eyes, breathing in the kind of fresh air New Yorkers only dreamed about, with his Davey by his side. Funny—he spent the better part of eighteen years dreaming of Santa Fe, and having finally made it there, he hadn’t the first idea what to do.

He turned his head to the side to look at Davey, who somehow managed to make filthy look charming. Jack was so used to Davey being well-groomed and perfectly put-together at all times.

Davey frowned at him. “Why are you smiling at me like that?”

“You’s pretty,” Jack said, softly enough that nobody but Davey could hear.

Davey chuckled and ran his hand through his messy hair. “I’m a mess.”

“My mess.” Jack squeezed his hand.

Davey faltered for a moment, then squeezed Jack’s hand back. “I owe you a kiss, Jacky.”

“That what this means?” Jack asked, holding up their hands and squeezing again.

Davey nodded. “Sure.”

He looked out of the alley, sitting up straighter to get a better view. “Is that a general store across the street?”

Jack followed his gaze. “Looks like it. Why?”

Davey had let go of Jack’s hand and was already getting to his feet. “Maybe they have some spare food. Something they can’t sell.”

Not having a physical connection with the other man made Jack anxious. He sat up and reached for him. “Nuh-uh. No way. You ain’t some beggar, Dave.”

“Then what am I?”

Jack hoped an argument would come to mind in the time it took to open his mouth. One did not.

“You stay here and rest,” Davey said. “I’ll be right back.”

“No!” Jack jerked up and grabbed Davey’s wrist, hissing through his teeth when the sudden movement caused his pants to rub painfully against his burn. “We stick together, no matter what.”

“Jack, I’m not going anywhere.” Davey knelt down in front of him and took his hands. “It’s just across the street. You’re hurt and need to rest.” 

“But—”

Davey squeezed both his hands and smiled. “I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Reluctantly, Jack nodded and let him go. His anxiety grew with the distance between them, and then Davey disappeared into the shop.

The silence gave Jack way too much space to think—about what they had given up, about the challenges they faced, but mostly, about the heavy question that he had locked away in the back of his mind when he and Davey made the fateful choice to jump a freight train.

What if it wasn’t better in Santa Fe?

Jack curled the hand that no longer held Davey’s into a fist and dug his fingernails into his palm. The irrational fear that they would somehow never see each other again drove him near insane, as if some hateful bastard was going to smell the queer on Davey and put a bullet between his eyes in the middle of the general store. Jack gritted his teeth and chided himself for even thinking something so ridiculous. Of course, after the week he’d had, it didn’t sound all that ridiculous, anymore.

He wondered how his boys—his newsies, his friends, his  _ brothers _ —handled his disappearance. Did they go looking for him? Did they worry about him? Oh god, had he hurt them? He grimaced. Of course, he had hurt them. Some of them, at least. He couldn’t even bear to think about that  _ some of them. _ He never questioned, not even once, not even for the tiniest fraction of a second, that David Jacobs was worth it. Jack Kelly would walk through fire and go to Hell for David Jacobs, but his lack of regret did nothing to quell the grief in his heart, growing bigger every second, forcing everything else out. Jack would never see his friends again. He would never set foot in the lodging house. He would never read another copy of  _ The World _ . His life as he knew it was over.

Then, Davey emerged from the general store across the street and replaced all that grief. Jack had Davey. That was all he needed.

Davey jogged back to Jack clutching two small, heavily bruised apples and half a loaf of bread with spots of mold around the edge. He knelt down in front of Jack and passed him one of the apples. “The owner was throwing these out. They’re pretty gross, but—”

“But they’s something,” Jack interjected. “I’s survived on worse, before.”

He bit into the gritty apple. It tasted like shit, but beggars can’t be choosers, so he choked it down with a grimace. He went to take another bite, but Davey grabbed his wrist to stop him.

“Don’t eat it if you think you’re going to be sick. The last thing we need is to get dehydrated.”

“S’fine.” Jack pulled his wrist away, “Like I said, I’s survived on worse, before.”

Davey nodded miserably and resumed sitting next to him. They ate their meager dinner as the sun went down, cloaking the alley in shadow, then pillowed their bags and extra clothes beneath their heads to sleep.

The hard ground put pressure on Jack’s body in all the wrong ways, but that wasn’t what kept him awake. His mind simply refused to settle. Too many ‘what if’s, both good and bad and downright horrifying, danced before his open eyes in the dark.  _ What if we can’t find a better place to sleep? What if we can’t find work? What if we don’t make it? _

_ What if it isn’t better in Santa Fe? _

He needed Davey, the stupid law be damned. He reached out blindly, flinching when his hand made contact with one that was reaching for him at the same time. He curled his fingers protectively around Davey’s. They squeezed each other’s hands at the same time, and finally, sleep dragged Jack under.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy golly gee, it's been three months. Last semester kicked my ass, so I put this boy on hold, but it's my baby, and I'm very glad it's back. If you're still with me, bless ya.

Jack and Davey walked down the damp, darkened streets of Santa Fe together, hand in hand, alone. Davey hadn’t the slightest idea where they were headed, but he kept walking, looking for something, somewhere. A numb, uneasy feeling settled in his stomach. The gray sky blanketed them too heavily, and the mountain loomed too large. The air pricked like needles at his empty hands. He turned. “Jack?”

Had Jack not been there, just a second before? Had Davey not had a hold of his hand?

“Jack!” he called. He tried to run back the way he’d come, but his legs felt as though they were moving through quicksand. He turned in a full circle, searching. “Jacky, where are you? Jack!”

He heard a gunshot, then another, then another. He screamed, “ _ Jack! _ ”

He woke up sweating, panting, staring up at brick walls and a dusty purple sky. To his right, the thin alley in which he and Jack had taken shelter. To his left, thank God in Heaven and all that is holy, Jack Kelly.

Davey turned over and cuddled up to Jack, throwing his arm over his shoulders and burying his face in his neck. Jack woke up immediately.

“Woah, hey, Davey, baby,” he mumbled, “wha’s goin’ on?”

“Nothing,” Davey answered shakily, trying to make himself believe it. “Just a nightmare.”

Jack groaned, gently pushing Davey away. “Baby, someone could see—”

“ _ Fuck _ someone!” Davey snapped much too loud, holding on tighter. Every single muscle in his body tensed, and Jack flinched, and they fell into an uneasy silence as they waited for something, anything, to happen—for someone to find them, for the world to come crashing down on top of them like a building on fire.

Finally, “I’d prefer you didn’t—” Jack’s voice became clearer as he came further out of sleep. “—unless ‘someone’ is me.”

A breathless laugh forced its way out of Davey. That sounded like his Jack—his beautiful, crazy, funny Jack, who could always make him smile and laugh and fall to pieces with a well-timed quip or a wink.

Jack sighed sleepily, gently petting Davey’s face with the back of his hand. “Only a dream, Davey.”

But it  _ wasn’t _ only a dream, Davey thought. It was the reality he had been living for the past few days—he wasn’t even certain how many, how much time had really passed. Time passed in a haze, and he lived in constant fear of losing Jack. Even with him right there, by Davey’s side, real and tangible and touchable and blessedly, beautifully alive, the possibility of Jack fading away like a ghost, dissipating into thin air like smoke, loomed like a heavy stone on Davey’s chest, making it hard to breathe.

“Dave, I mean it,” Jack said more firmly. “I love you, but we can’t—” He shook his head only slightly, but resolutely. “Not here. I ain’t gonna risk you like that.”

Davey’s heart raced. He didn’t want to let go. He held on even tighter, and his hands shook. “Jack, please…”

Jack hesitated, and for a blissful moment, Davey thought he might relent. Instead, he shook his head and told him, “No. We made it here. We made it this far. I ain’t losin’ you, now. No way.”

Logically, Davey knew Jack was right. That was the worst part. They couldn’t be together, not like this, not in public, not in New York or Santa Fe, not now, not ever. Davey knew that, and it hurt like a knife to the heart. He reluctantly let go and shifted back into his rightful place, not touching Jack but well within reaching distance. He closed his eyes and tried, really tried, to fall back asleep, but the residual echo of gunshots and his own voice screaming Jack’s name plagued him until the rising sun turned the alley gold and the sound of life in Santa Fe crescendoed in the street. Realizing the morning had come, Davey sat up, shifting and stretching his sore back. He missed his own bed...well, it wasn’t his anymore, was it? That room where he’s almost lost Jack—no, where Jack had almost been ripped away from him by Davey’s own loving father of all people—it wasn’t his. Not anymore. Never again.

He ran his fingers through his hair, finding it oily and gritty with dirt. He cringed and sighed miserably. They needed to clean up somehow, if they wanted any hope of someone taking them in. They looked like gutter rats, and truth be told, he felt like one.

Jack groaned and shifted as he woke. He reached out towards Davey, and Davey snatched up his hand. At the contact, Jack let out a breath and relaxed. “Hey, D’vey.”

“Hi, Jack.”

Jack sucked in a breath through his teeth as he sat up, still favoring his injured side considerably. With a sinking feeling, Davey came to terms with the fact that Jack was in no condition to live on the street. They had to figure something else out, or they wouldn’t make it.

Jack must have been thinking the same thing. “We’s gotta find a real place to stay,” he said, rolling his neck and shoulders carefully. He deflected his own discomfort by adding, “I can’t be lettin’ my boy sleep on the hard ground, can I?”

He smiled at Davey, ever devilishly charming, and Davey smiled back, ever devilishly charmed. God, it wasn’t fair that Jack could be so beautiful while filthy, bloody, and exhausted. Davey was ruined.

“You were right about what you said yesterday, though,” Davey pointed out. “No one is going to want us, like this. We look hideous.” And he didn’t even want to know how they smelled, his own nose having grown accustomed, thank God.

Jack hummed. “Well, there’s gotta be a river or pond or something somewhere, right? This is the West—wide open spaces, nature.”

Davey chuckled. “You want to bathe in a pond?” he asked skeptically.

“You got a better idea?”

Touché.

“For once,” Davey let out a single, bitter laugh, “no, I don’t.”

Jack grinned. “Well then, we’d better get moving.”

* * *

Jack was more than a little relieved to find that walking became considerably easier as the days went by. It still hurt, no question there, but he didn’t have to lean on poor Davey just to stay upright, anymore. Running on defiance alone it seemed, they made their way towards the mountains.

The sun beat down, not too much hotter than in New York, but brighter for the lack of shade and more intense for the lack of wind. Jack’s hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, and his throat burned for water. Shit, they really needed water.

Looking up at the mountains, Jack still couldn’t believe they had really made it to Santa Fe. After years of what he thought was wasted time dreaming, Santa Fe turned out to be more than he ever imagined or hoped for. It may have had something to do with Davey being there with him. He didn’t know. He didn’t care. As long as David Jacobs could be safe in this beautiful place, Jack Kelly would be a happy man.

Jack wondered, in some pessimistic corner of his slightly delirious mind, if Davey could actually be safe there. Fuck that. He would  _ make _ Davey safe there, if it was the very last thing he did.

“It really is beautiful, isn’t it?” Davey said, gazing up at the mountain.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Jack replied, almost as a reflex.

Davey blushed, or maybe he was sunburned. Jack couldn’t tell. “Flirt.”

Jack snickered and turned around so he could face Davey, walking backwards. “What do you want, Dave?” he asked, smiling. “New place, new life. What do you want out of it, huh?”

Davey shook his head and chuckled. “Right now, I just want water and a place to sleep.”

“Come on. Think bigger.” Jack turned back around and fell into step with Davey, despite his still noticeable limp. “For example,” he tossed his arm over Davey’s shoulders, “one day, I’s gonna make enough money to get us a nice house on this mountain, just for us, where nobody can tell us what to do, and—” He faltered for just a moment. “—and nobody can tell me not to love you. I’ll do whatever you want, David Jacobs, I swear to God. Anything you ask for, I’ll get it.”

“Water.”

“Yes, I know, you said that. That’s what we’s—”

“Jack!” Jack pointed out in front of them and a little to their right. “There’s water.”

So there was. A medium-sized pond glimmered like diamonds in the sunlight, just a little ways off.

Jack laughed breathlessly as relief rushed through him like a cool summer wind. “Well, then what are we standin’ around here for?” Jack chanced a kiss on Davey’s cheek. “Didn’t I tell you I’d get you anything you asked for?”

Startled by the kiss, Davey didn’t put up much resistance as Jack took his hand and pulled him along. After a couple moments, once the initial shock wore off, he laughed—really laughed, and it was a beautiful sound. Jack’s heart fluttered over several beats. Hell, forget the water, he could probably live on Davey Jacobs’ laugh alone.

It took a few minutes to reach the pond, what with Jack’s injured leg slowing them down. Jack found himself wondering how Crutchie managed to make it all those years on one good leg, before casting those thoughts far, far away. He couldn’t think about Crutchie—not there, not in Santa Fe, not thousands of miles away from him when he didn’t even say goodbye. He couldn’t think about Crutchie; he would fall to pieces, when Davey needed him.

Jack shifted his focus instead to their small victory of finding water. He stripped down to his underclothes and stepped cautiously down the slope into the pool, moaning rather obscenely at the feeling of cool, crisp water lifting the grime off his skin. He dunked his head and began to scrub his hair. Soap would have been nice, but he wasn’t about to—what was it they said? Look a gift horse in the mouth? He had water, and he had Davey. He didn't need anything else.

Davey joined him in the water, bringing their old clothes with him to wash in the water. Jack figured his would have blood stains for the rest of time, but maybe they could lighten them enough that they just looked like mud. It would be hard enough to find work as an outsider; looking like he’d ripped a man in half with his bare hands would make it damn near impossible.  _ Davey can work _ , said a tiny voice in the back of Jack’s head, and Jack wanted to punch it. Davey should have been going to school. Jack could be content on a ranch in Santa Fe, never amounting to much more than a former newsboy and a starving artist. Could Davey? He had always been destined for better things, but he’d given all that up for...for Jack, because for some reason Jack would never be able to fathom, Davey loved him.

“You’re staring,” Davey said as he scrubbed at his face, leaving muddy lines down his cheeks where his fingers had missed.

“Well, you’s beautiful, Davey,” Jack said, a little awestruck by that immutable truth. “Even covered in mud and shit.”

Davey sneered at him, and Jack laughed, feeling all the stress and tension and mind-numbing fear of the last few days slowly washing away in the water. He splashed Davey, and Davey squawked in indignation and splashed him back, and before long, the two had devolved into a childish game of splashing and dunking and laughing carelessly. The game finally ended with Jack pinned to the bank of the pond, out of breath and drunk on laughter.

_ We’s just kids, _ he thought.  _ We’s eighteen and scared. We need something to believe in. _

He dragged Davey down on top of him and kissed him hard. Davey made a soft, surprised noise, but didn’t fight it.

_ He believes in me. I can’t let him down. I won’t. _

They fell asleep in the grass beneath a nearby tree, with Jack’s head on Davey’s shoulder and his arm slung across Davey’s chest, warmed by the sun and beautifully, wonderfully careless.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know it’s been three months again. FML.

Jack had never seen anything quite like the stars in Santa Fe. He had always known the night sky to be black or, on particularly bright nights, inky blue with tiny flecks of starshine, but the stars in Santa Fe filled the moonless sky from horizon to horizon, through swaths of purple and blue and orange that looked as though an artist much better than Jack had painted them there. For the first time in a long time, the concept of a God seemed truly tangible—God seemed  _ real _ , and that knocked the wind out of Jack, but he couldn’t come up with a single other explanation for the beauty up above him. Davey probably could. Davey had an explanation for everything, after all. He could probably tell Jack, scientifically, why the night sky looked like a painting in Santa Fe instead of just  _ dark _ like it did in New York. Jack didn’t know if he wanted science, though. Maybe he was happy to believe that God painted the sky.

He wondered what the nuns back in New York would say, if they could hear his thoughts. Would their jaws drop in surprise at the ever wild and hopeless Jack Kelly’s change of heart? Would they ecstatically welcome him into the house of The Lord, praising God for another soul saved? How would they explain the painted sky in Santa Fe, if they could see it?

He wished Crutchie could see it.

He sighed, letting his eyes fall closed and swallowing around the painful lump that formed in his throat. It was hardly the first time he had thought about Crutchie since leaving New York. For Jack, thinking of Crutchie was as natural as breathing. For so long, so many, many years, it had just been the two of them—Jack and Crutchie against the world. Friends.  _ Best _ friends. Brothers. They were family, and family wasn’t meant to be apart. How would Crutchie get along without Jack? Who would take care of him? Of course, Jack knew the other newsies would do it. They wouldn’t even think a thing about it; they would just do it, because they were  _ all _ family, not just Jack and Crutchie. But it was supposed to be him. It had always been him. Jack loved Crutchie differently than he loved Davey, of course, but just as much and just as fiercely. Separating himself from Crutchie was like cutting off a limb; he would survive, but he would have to completely relearn how to do life. How would Jack get along without Crutchie.

A strange  _ woop _ in the distance startled Jack out of his memories of New York and back to Santa Fe. He frowned, and his frown deepened as another cry followed, and then another. Through the haze of exhaustion, Jack could identify the sound as something familiar, but not quite right. He shifted closer to Davey, and Davey stirred.

“Jacky?”

“Shh.”

The chorus rose in volume, sharp cries overlapping one another, and uneasiness rose, acidic in Jack’s stomach. He knew nothing about the West, not really, other than what he learned from dramaticized tales of cowboys and Indians in stolen Western novels, but he had a suspicion.

“Dogs?” Davey asked, sounding suddenly, completely awake.

“Coyotes.”

They tensed against each other as another distinct  _ woop _ sounded from the other direction, setting off another, closer chorus of howls and cries.

“We should go,” Jack said, pushing his panic down and himself up off Davey’s chest. “Shouldn’t’a fallen asleep out here. We gotta get back into town.”

“Jack, where  _ is _ town?”

He froze, halfway to standing. Where was town? With no familiar landmarks and no moon by which to see…oh, God, where the hell was town?

“The house, then,” he said as he scrambled the rest of the way to his feet, ignoring the still-present, burning pain in his hip. “We’ll go to that house we saw. It wasn’t that far, and it was that way.” He pointed.

The starlight barely illuminated the silhouette of Davey’s face as he shook his head. “No, Jack, that’s crazy, we don’t know who—”

“The worst that can happen is they send us back out here.”

“No, the worst that can happen is we scare them and they kill us.”

Jack opened and closed his mouth. Of course, that was true, and Davey was always right. That didn’t make him any keener on the idea of staying out there with the coyotes on a moonless night.

Davey took a breath to speak, but before he could, they heard the telltale, dull  _ clink _ of a rock being kicked over hard ground nearby. They both jumped, and Davey, who was still sitting on the ground, grabbed Jack’s ankle.

“Don’t run,” he whispered. “It’s like a dog. If you run, it’ll chase you.”

Jack nodded. “Yeah. Come on, Davey, get up.”

He reached, and after a moment of fumbling in the dark, Davey found and took his hand. Davey slowly, as quietly as possible, climbed to his feet, bringing his and Jack’s bags with him.

“Let’s go. Go slow,” Jack directed, taking his bag from Davey and settling it over his shoulder.

Davey went back to back with him, and Jack let out an amused little huff. Smart.

“You lead,” Davey said. “I’m right behind you.”

They shuffled blindly in what Jack thought—hoped—prayed to the god he just thought might exist—was the direction of that little house they’d seen, eyes wide and desperate for more light. Jack wished he had paid more attention, all those nights on the rooftop of the newsboys’ lodging house, to where the stars sat in the sky. He wished he hadn’t fallen asleep under that tree. He wished he had been more careful jumping off the freight train out of New York. He wished he had been more careful with Davey all along so as not to have gotten them into this whole mess. Jack never thought he’d miss New York—the people there, for sure, but not New York. Yet, there he was, missing the lamps and the familiar streets and the noise.

When the coyotes quieted down, well, that was worse. The only sounds he could hear were his and Davey’s footsteps, their quick, labored breathing, and his own damn heartbeat pounding in his ears like a hammer against a brick wall. He let himself get distracted, and the toe of his shoe caught beneath a rock. He pitched forward, gasping in alarm and reaching out wildly as he fell to his hands and knees.

“Jack!” Davey cried.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Jack pushed himself off the ground immediately, gritting his teeth through the soreness that surrounded his various injuries. He reached around for Davey, catching a hold of the front of his shirt.

Davey grabbed his wrist. “ _ Shh! _ ”

They both held their breath and listened, turning their heads towards a rustling in the underbrush. Davey tightened his grip on Jack’s wrist, and Jack pulled Davey closer as it neared. They had survived strikes and cops, guns and trains; Jack would not let some wild animal touch a hair on Davey’s head. He would gladly die before he let that happen.

“Go slow,” he whispered, and he thought he saw Davey just barely nod.

They moved even slower than before, focusing more on listening than walking. Jack searched the darkness for the house he had seen before as his mind began to spin contingency plans. If they couldn’t find the house, would they be better or worse off staying awake? Jack knew Davey hadn’t eaten the day before, and neither had he. They needed rest to gather enough strength to make it back into town. Maybe, if they bedded down in some taller weeds and stayed very quiet...well, at least they had options.

Bad options were still options.

“It can’t be much farther, can it?” Davey asked.

Jack responded immediately. “No, we should be getting close now.”  _ If we went the right direction. _

Another round of bays and howls picked up behind them, and Jack gritted his teeth to the point of cracking, remembering the time Smalls got bitten by a mutt he tried to feed. The skinny, mangy little thing hadn’t looked like he could do that much damage, but Smalls had nursed that wound for weeks. Jack figured he and Davey wouldn’t stand a chance against a pack of coyotes, especially with his leg still giving him hell with every step. He might just be able to buy Davey enough time to run, however. Davey was tall and faster than he looked. Surely, if it came down to Davey surviving or neither of them, Davey would go ahead and use that brilliant mind of his and take the logical way out. Surely. But Jack knew he was Davey’s weakness, and he cursed himself for it.

He tried to tell himself he was thinking up a morbid and unlikely scenario, but so many morbid and unlikely things had already happened, he would rather have been overly prepared than caught off-guard again. He nearly wept in relief when a vague shape began to appear in the darkness. When he was close enough to reach out and touch it, he found a wall made of wood.

“It’s here, Davey.” He followed the wall around until his outstretched hand hit a railing, which he followed to a porch, forming an image of the cabin far more by touch than by sight. He slowly stumbled up the porch steps, clutching the railing in one hand and Davey’s hand in the other. “Hello?” he called out. There was a rustle in the grass nearby, but no answer. He knocked on the wall with his fist. “Is anyone there?”

A low growl caused both young men to jump, Davey crashing into Jack and Jack crashing into the wall. Davey cursed, and Jack’s blood ran cold. He looked behind him for the source of the sound, but saw nothing but shadows. The animal—coyote, Jack assumed with mounting dread—growled again, and Jack knew it could see them, even if they couldn’t see it.

He tried pounding on the wall again. “Hello!? Please, we need help!”

“Jack?” Davey’s voice wavered dangerously as the growling continued, rising slightly in volume.

_ Fuck _ . Jack felt around frantically, rubbing his palms on the rough wood exterior of the cabin before finally landing on a door handle. He turned it, and it stuck. He tried again, harder, with the same result. “Come on,” he hissed. “Come  _ on _ .”

“Jack…” Davey sobbed, trembling against Jack’s back.

Jack gritted his teeth and gave the handle one last try, throwing his entire weight behind it. Mercifully, it came free, and the door crashed open. Jack turned, grabbed the back of Davey’s shirt, and threw him into the cabin, slamming the rickety door behind them and continuing to feel around for a lock, barely noticing the warm sting in his palms. He pulled on what felt like some sort of wooden latch and sighed with relief when it fell into place.

Breathing heavily, he leaned his forehead against the door. “Dave?”

“Jack?” Davey’s pained voice came from below him, which meant he had accidentally thrown him on the floor.

“Davey,” he breathed, falling to his hands and knees and crawling towards the sound of Davey’s rapid breathing. The darkness outside had done nothing to prepare him for the suffocating darkness inside the cabin, closing in around him like a black velvet cloak.

Davey’s hands landed on him first, and they grabbed each other frantically, as if the darkness might swallow them away from each other somehow. Jack wrapped his arms around Davey’s shoulders, and Davey wrapped his around Jack’s waist, and they held each other as they caught their breath

“I don’t think anyone’s here…” Davey said after a minute.

Just as well, Jack thought. “Guess we’s stayin’ in here, tonight.”

“Guess we are.”

They pillowed their bags beneath their heads and laid down, pressed together. Exhaustion had already begun to seep in around the edges of Jack’s awareness, now that they seemed to be out of immediate danger, and he easily tuned out everything but Davey’s breath, Davey’s heartbeat,  _ Davey _ . He fell asleep quickly, ignoring the whooping cries of the coyotes outside.

* * *

Davey woke up as the first, dusty blue rays of sunlight filtered through the windows, with a sharp pain in his spine and hunger tearing as his stomach. He groaned. How the hell did Jack sleep on the roof of the lodging house all the time and still be able to walk the next day?

He sat up, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the low light, and slowly, the cabin came into focus. Rat droppings littered a warped, uneven wood floor beneath a rickety table and chairs. Dust and cobwebs gathered in the corners like snowbanks. Cabinet doors hung loosely off broken hinges over wooden countertops, surrounding an old, cast iron stove. 

The floor creaked under Davey as he stood, and Jack woke suddenly, bolting upright in a panic.

“Sorry!” Davey hissed. “Sorry—it’s just me.”

Jack looked around. “No one’s here?”

Davey shook his head. “No one’s been here in a long time.”

Jack climbed to his feet next to Davey, and they both took in the ruined cabin around them. It looked as though it had been abandoned in a hurry. Assorted, simple plates and bowls remained in the cupboards, save for one plate that had fallen and shattered on the floor. A broom leaned against the wall in a corner. A cooking pot still sat on the stove, a thready dishrag next to a tin wash basin, the tattered remains of a newspaper on the table. Davey huffed bitterly at the latter. How poetic.

He wandered into the small kitchen area, while Jack investigated a side door that led into another room. He ran his fingertips gently over the splintery countertops, wiped the grime off the window with his sleeve, and tried the cupboard doors that remained intact.

It wasn’t much. It wasn’t even as nice as the newsboys’ lodging house in Manhattan, let alone the Jacobs’ apartment, but…

“Davey,” Jack breathed in awe, appearing in the doorframe from the other room, “do you believe in God?”

What an odd question. “Yes, I do. Do you?”

Jack nodded. “I think I’s starting to.”

…it was four walls and a roof and a door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For someone who lives where I can hear coyotes out my bedroom window most nights, I had one hell of a time describing what they sound like.


End file.
